


Binge

by JuniorWoofles



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Husbands, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 12:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7618471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuniorWoofles/pseuds/JuniorWoofles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes does things for a reason. Whether it is a good reason is somewhat debatable, but it is always done for a reason. Sometimes for a case, sometimes for science, sometimes for John and sometimes because he’s bored.</p><p>So John didn’t know how surprised he should be when he came home to find his beloved sitting on the floor of the living room surrounded by bottles and bottles of alcohol. Like, enough to shame an alcoholic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Binge

**Author's Note:**

> I heard Benedict's lisp and wrote this.
> 
> Rated for sex references. Rating will change if I continue this.

Sherlock Holmes does things for a reason. Whether it is a _good_ reason is somewhat debatable, but it is always done for a reason. Sometimes for a case, sometimes for science, sometimes for John and sometimes because he’s bored.

So John didn’t know how surprised he should be when he came home to find his beloved sitting on the floor of the living room surrounded by bottles and bottles of alcohol. Like, enough to shame an alcoholic.

“What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to the many bottles forming a circle around Sherlock.

“Case. Need to prove if it was possible for a first time binge drinker to be able to kill someone.”

“Please tell me you’re not thinking of killing anyone.”

“Don’t be so silly John. I’m trying to see whether or not the suspect would have been able to do anything after drinking such large quantities of alcohol. So I drink all of this and see how I feel.”

John frowned. There were a few qualities above anything else that pissed him off to no end about his husband. And top of that list was the inability to look after himself. Sherlock could, and would, go for days without food or sleep if he felt like it. He had decided drugs and smoking were good ways of keeping boredom at bay. He hardly ate a thing. And despite John’s best efforts, sometimes there wasn’t anything he could do to persuade Sherlock to sleep or eat. He was ridiculously stubborn that way, worse than a toddler on a bad day. So when John heard of the stupid let’s-drink-far-too-much-alcohol-until-we-nearly-die plan he was not happy. Not one bit.

He was a doctor he knew about the effects of alcohol. He knew how much damage binge drinking could cause. And he really didn’t want to let Sherlock go through with this. But he also knew there was no way he could stop Sherlock from doing this. He could only distract him for a while and if he did get his full attention Sherlock would just come back to the idea later.

He was torn. He knew there was no way to talk Sherlock out of it, no way to guilt-trip him into forgetting the thought. But if he didn’t _try_ , there was no way of truly knowing. And Sherlock always knew how to surprise him.

“Sherlock…” John barely got past the second syllable before the man in question interrupted him.

“Yes”

“Let me finish! Did you think for one second about what binge drinking could do to you? Could do to me? To us?” John was past the point of caring that he sounded needy.

“No, Yes, Yes.”

“Is that it then? You only care about yourself if it hurts me? You can’t do that. Okay?”

“You’re mad at me.”

“Oh well-fucking-done genius. I’m not going to sit here and watch you poison yourself. I thought we had had that discussion.”

Sherlock went quiet for a moment, letting the memory flood over himself. Then he realised he was missing something.

John was mad, but not full out shouting. He was swearing, but not to his usual standards. He was harsh but much softer than he usually was when he was mad. Then the great genius got it.

“You’re letting me do it anyway.”

John smiled sadly. He was never going to miss anything, was he? He nodded. He hated the situation but he might as well let Sherlock do it now when he could watch than to come home and find something worse.

“For better or for worse, remember?”

Sherlock got up of the floor and went over and kissed his husband. He never understood how he got so lucky. Then he took John’s jacket off, threw it in the direction of a sofa and took the shorter man’s hand and led him over to his circle where they both sat down.  He looked like an 18 year old on their birthday when they can legally drink and they don’t know where to start.

Without realising what he was doing, John led Sherlock’s hand to a bottle of wine.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock was getting quite drunk now. He had a strong tolerance but for someone who doesn’t drink that much, this much alcohol was taking his toll. And John was sitting there, biting his lip, watching him, discreetly checking his pulse every few minutes or so. ‘This was stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had ever thought to let him do something so destructive in the first place?’

“John path me that bottle.”

‘Right, **that** was why. That stupid, sexy lisp. Why did he have to have such a sexy lisp?’ John desperately fought to get his head straight as he passed Sherlock another bottle. ‘This was ridiculous; they **had** to stop now before he did something terrible to himself.’ 

That lisp went right through him and hardened his cock more. Every single time. Why was that lisp so stupidly sexy? John crossed his legs tighter and really hoped Sherlock was too drunk to notice. He knew there was no way Sherlock would be able to have sex tonight, and actually thinking about it wasn’t really helping. Trying so hard (uh hem) to change the subject, John passed Sherlock the bottle he asked for.

“Sherlock maybe we should stop after this one.” John wasn’t quite sure why he said ‘we’ when he had only had one glass ages ago. But they were a ‘we,’ a team that were going to go through every late night, stupid, harmful experiment together.

“No Johhhhn. I don’t want to. You can’t thtop me. Thtop. Thtop. Dammit!” There was something quite funny about watching a grown man, drunk out of his head, yell at himself for a lisp. And John couldn’t help but giggle a little.

“Thtop it. Thtop laughing. Thtop thmirking. It’th not fair. John I don’t want to lithp. Thit. Thupid alcohol.”

“Yes I agree stupid alcohol. Now I’m going to ask you the questions one last time and then you are going to bed. I am not even going to think about what you could have done to yourself.

“Thtop worrying. I know you think it’th your job and it ith but pweathe.” Sherlock stopped and frowned. He’d lost two letters now.

Sensing an on-coming, drunken tantrum, John began to hastily run through the questions.

“What’s your name?”

“Therlock Wathon-Holmeth.”

“Age?”

“Thirty-thix.”

“Address?”

“221 beeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

With that tail, John realised that Sherlock was too drunk to do anything with. Decided he would have to risk standing up if it meant getting Sherlock into bed (and no, not like that, you’re really not helping) John got up slowly and helped Sherlock to his feet. Decided he was going to need to almost drag him to the bedroom. “Bedtime Mister.”

“But I’m not finithed with my ethperiment!”

“Do you want to lisp more? Or damage your health more than whatever you’ve already done?”

“Fibe.”

John smiled. It was so rare that Sherlock gave in.

 Few moments later Sherlock was tucked into bed, stripped of his clothes and slowly beginning to drift off to sleep.  John had titled his head back to keep his airway open and had placed basins on both sides of the bed, just in case he was sick. John kissed him on the forehead and made to leave the room when Sherlock began to protest.

“Where you going? Thay with me, pweathe.”

John could never resist him, especially when he was vulnerable, lisping and said ‘please.’ So he stripped off to his underwear and crawled under the covers and cuddled up next to Sherlock who immediately snaked his arm round John’s waist. In a way, it worked better this way. If anything did happen, there was no way he wouldn’t notice.

John was beginning close his eyes and let the overwhelming scent of alcohol wash over him when Sherlock did it. He moved his hand slightly and accidentally touched the head of John’s cock. At the touch it went crazy; begging for attention and John blushed into the dark.

“Oh. John I’b thorry I can’t habe thex. I lob oo.”

John smiled. “I love you too. Now sleep.” ‘And please be okay in the morning’ he added silently.

Sherlock smiled and snuggled closer to John, until he remembered and lay off. But within seconds he was pressed up against him again. A few more seconds and he was snoring lightly while John began to drift off.

**Author's Note:**

> I always thought this was unfinished but I think it works as it is? I may add a second chapter if there is requests for it


End file.
